


pawprints in the snow

by kiyala



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-10
Updated: 2010-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 14:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>shapeshifting!AU in which Arthur shifts into a wolf and Eames shifts into a polar bear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pawprints in the snow

**Author's Note:**

> For [this adorable prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/inception_kink/12989.html?thread=28692413#t28692413) on inception_kink.

The snow falls and falls, and Arthur peers out of his window, pretending he can watch it come down, pretending he can differentiate one flake from another in the expanse of white. There’s a mug of hot cocoa in his hands and he curls his fingers into its warmth, taking a sip. He sighs, the sound loud in the house, silent but for the crackling of the fire.

He isn’t going to see the bear tonight, he thinks. He turns away from the window, shaking his head.

Not that it matters. As far as he’s concerned, a day without having to deal with Eames is a good one.

*

He only dreams when he is restless. Hazy, colourful dreams about the wilderness, bright and colourful in the spring, warm and green in the summer, rich with reds and browns in autumn, white and serene in the winter. He dreams of the seasons, and his different homes in the world, but for now, he dreams about this place the most; the farthest north, cold for most of the year, with the knowledge of company that he pretends not to appreciate.

Thing is, without Eames, he’d be bored out of his mind. Without Eames, he’d be lost.

The snow has settled by morning, and Arthur steps out of his small house, locking the door behind him and glancing around before he shifts. In his place is a wolf—always a wolf—and he makes his way across the snow, his senses sharp, sniffing the air for the scent he can recognise even as a man.

 _Arthur!_

He stops when he hears Eames’ voice, complete with a British accent even when it’s in his mind. The large polar bear bounds into view and approaches him, nuzzling against him affectionately.

 _I hope you managed to avoid the snow storm last night_. Arthur only cares because if Eames falls sick, there’s no doubt that he’ll catch it too.

 _Mostly_. Eames doesn’t stop sniffing at Arthur, _I smell something delicious. You were cooking last night, weren’t you? I’m coming over for dinner_.

Were Arthur in his human form, he’d let out a long-suffering sigh. Instead, he simply butts Eames lightly to make him move out of the way and pads his way across the snowy field. _Come on. I want to see the forest_.

Eames follows close behind. He always does, ever since they’d first met, three years ago. Shape shifters aren’t very common, but they don’t stick together the way Eames insists on doing with Arthur. Eames has always been different, though. Unlike most shifters, choosing one form and sticking to it, he tends to change based on his mood, or based on his surroundings. He’d been a leopard when he’d introduced himself to Arthur, and an owl when they’d met the second time. His polar bear shift, however, is an apparent favourite in cold weather. Arthur believes his wolf shift is versatile; small enough to escape notice, well-equipped to fend for himself, should the need arise, and furry enough to keep him warm. Still, he does not protest when Eames walks right beside him, sharing body warmth.

 _You and your forest_. He sounds amused, and a little fond.

 _It’s beautiful_ , Arthur is a little defensive, but Eames can tell that he is eager. _It changes every time the snow falls_.

 _It gets_ whiter, observes Eames. _But that’s about it._

Arthur turns his head, and his irritation is clear. _If you have no appreciation for these things, you don’t have to follow me_.

Eames nuzzles against him again, a little too affectionately, but Arthur tolerates it. _I wouldn’t miss this for the world, you know that_.

 _One day_ , declares Arthur, _I will be able to go for a walk without having to put up with you_.

Eames watches him walk ahead, amused. _And what a sad day that will be_.

*

Despite what Eames says about the winter forest being boring, Arthur marvels at its beauty. All shifters have a deep-seated appreciation for nature, and Arthur knows that Eames feels it too, when they walk under the low-hanging tree branches, weighed down by the snow, or find the frozen waterfall, new icicles with new patterns.

 _Don’t lick it_ , Arthur warns without even having to look at Eames to know he’s considering a particularly large icicle. He walks ahead, squeezing into the smaller spaces that the polar bear cannot, checking that there aren’t any lost animals, stranded by the heavy snowfall.

There’s nothing out of place; the animals here are entirely capable of taking care of themselves, and that puts Arthur in a good mood when he returns to the small clearing, where Eames is curled into a ball, head between his paws.

 _Come on_ , Arthur prods Eames with a paw, and nudges with his snout. Eames is warm, and has a smell to him that always makes Arthur think of quiet, peaceful days, and he lingers for just a moment before pulling away. _Let’s move_.

They walk towards civilisation, where they can see chimney smoke in the distance, and Eames begins his search for poachers’ traps. He dismantles three nets, while Arthur finds a stick to set off a bear trap. Eames doesn’t realise he’s growling until Arthur butts him softly.

 _Hey_ , Arthur’s tone is gentler than usual, and understanding, _relax_.

Eames drops his head in frustration. _I hate poachers. I hate anybody who would want to disturb this_.

Arthur tucks his head under Eames’ and snuggles against him, tongue licking out with an affection he never shows as a man. _I know_.

Eames wraps his large paw around Arthur, bringing him closer, and for that brief moment, they’re both so distracted that they don’t hear the footsteps in the snow until too late.

Arthur tenses when he realises they’re being watched, and Eames notices a moment later.

 _We’re going to have to run_ , Arthur decides, doing his best to remain calm. _They’re armed. No sudden movements. They’ll go after you, because you’re bigger. I’ll run interference_.

 _No_ , Eames replies emphatically, _Arthur, you aren’t a man at the moment. You don’t have your guns and you’re outnumbered—_

 _Run, Eames_ , and with that, Arthur is turning around, teeth and claws bared as he runs at the first poacher. Gunshots ring out, but they all miss; Arthur knows not to stay still for long enough to present a target, and Eames has moved out of sight, into the dense trees.

 _Arthur!_ he calls, panicked, because he can hear the low wolf growls, but the gunfire is gone. He moves closer, struggling to see through the branches, and his heart sinks when he realises there’s a muzzle around Arthur’s jaws and a chain around his neck. _Oh Christ,_ Arthur _!_

 _Stay where you are_ , Arthur instructs, and he sounds far too calm for his current position. _They’re not going to kill me. But if you start attacking them now, I can’t say the same for you_.

Eames barely holds back his growl as Arthur is sharply pulled away. _I’ll find you. I swear, Arthur—_

 _Calm down, Eames_ , Arthur sounds even more relaxed now, and Eames realises he’s probably been tranquilised. _I’ll escape soon_.

Arthur’s head droops to the ground and he goes slack. Eames watches as the poachers drag him away through the snow.

*

Arthur wakes to the feeling of a snout pressing insistently in his face. He blinks his eyes open, confused for a moment by the fact that he is outside, and still a wolf, and shuts them again when he remembers what has happened.

 _Arthur, Arthur_ , a familiar voice makes his eyes snap open again and he sits up this time, and Eames is there, standing beside him. A large paw pulls him close and Arthur shivers against the warmth surrounding him, only just realising that he is cold. _Oh, Arthur. I’m so glad_.

It’s night, and Arthur realises that it’s snowing. There’s snow on Eames’ snout and he sounds particularly unhappy when he tells Arthur, _they left you outside, in the snow. I found you by your smell. They’re inside now, so we can escape_.

Arthur turns to look towards the house, and hears a rattle that makes him realise he has a chain around his neck. He looks down and growls softly.

 _I’m going to have to shift, to get out of this_.

 _Can we kill them, Arthur? God, I want to tear them to pieces_.

 _Just calm down. We’ll report them as poachers, just as usual_.

 _Usually_ , Eames doesn’t even try to hide how unhappy he is, _I don’t have to watch them drag your limp body away and do nothing about it_.

 _Were you worried about me?_ Arthur rubs his muzzle against Eames’, and licks him when the polar bear drops his head and doesn’t reply.

For a moment, Arthur shifts back to his human form, and he pulls the chain from around his neck. He places a gentle hand on Eames’ head, leaning across to bury his face into the warm fur.

“Thank you, Eames.”

The paw that wraps around him is suddenly a smaller hand, and for the briefest moment, they’re both men, hugging each other and sharing warmth in the cold.

Then, they’re shifting back into their animal forms, and Eames nudges Arthur. _You promised me delicious dinner_.

 _You invited yourself over_ , Arthur corrects, but he sounds affectionate. _You just happen to be lucky that I followed a recipe for two and forgot to divide the ingredients_.

 _I’m very lucky indeed_ , Eames agrees, but there’s a tone to his words that tell Arthur that he isn’t referring to dinner.

They walk the rest of the way to Arthur’s house in a comfortable silence, and they shift back before trudging through the snow and inside.

“I much prefer the cold when I’m in the form of an animal built to withstand it,” Eames declares, taking his boots off and despairing at his wet socks.

“Stay here,” Arthur says, removing his boots and padding into the house, returning with a towel and a new pair of socks.

“You’re wonderful, Arthur,” Eames declares, accepting both.

“There’s hot water, if you’d like a shower,” Arthur is already busy starting the fireplace and putting the kettle on, “I’ll make some tea while you go.”

“Thank you,” Eames murmurs, and presses a light kiss to Arthur’s forehead before leaving to the bathroom.

Arthur feels his face heat. He is no fool; he knows how much he and Eames have come to mean to each other, but he’s used to only showing it when they’re in their animal forms. He thinks of Eames’ warm embrace, outside the poachers’ lodge, and considers that perhaps this development isn’t so bad.

He tries not to dwell on it, and mostly succeeds, through their tea and the dinner that Arthur reheats from the previous night. Then, they’re drinking Arthur’s favourite hot cocoa in front of the fireplace, and the couch yields under their combined weight, pushing them together. Eames lifts his arm, Arthur tucks his legs beneath himself, and they fit against each other perfectly.

Eames is halfway through a story about one time he’d been an albatross, when Arthur suddenly gets it, like a sudden, pleasant revelation, and he leans in to press his lips against Eames’. First, Eames goes silent, not just because his lips are otherwise occupied, but as though he’s trying to understand what’s happening. Then, soon after, he’s reaching out with his free hand to hold Arthur’s shoulder and kiss back. Their mugs make a dull clink against each other as they move closer, and Arthur pulls away for a brief moment, just so he can place them on the table, before returning his attention to Eames.

They kiss again, and Arthur licks along Eames’ lips until they open with a soft sigh. His mouth tastes of chocolate, and his tongue is hot and wet, and Arthur sucks on it, until he can taste past the cocoa, and relishes the unique flavour of _Eames_.

“Oh god, Arthur,” Eames moans, pulling away from the kiss, his hands settling on Arthur’s hips and pulling him closer. “Arthur…”

Arthur nibbles on Eames’ lower lip and gives him a crooked smile. “Right here, Eames.”

“I love you,” Eames breathes, not quite a revelation when they both know— when they’ve both known for _years_ —but they both feel the relief wash over them that finally, the words are there, between them.

And Arthur has always been the type of person to puts his feelings into actions, not words, and so he wraps his arms around Eames, holding him close, and that’s all Eames needs.

“Arthur, Arthur. My Arthur,” Eames murmurs into Arthur’s neck, kissing it and then biting softly. Arthur groans, kneeling to get himself even closer, gasping in surprise when Eames takes hold of his thighs and pulls, so their bodies are flush against each other.

He’s hard and he’d feel much more self conscious of it if not for the fact that Eames is equally so, pressing up against his hip. Arthur sucks in a slow breath and grinds, slowly and experimentally, huffing out a small, delighted laugh at the way Eames’ head rolls back against the couch cushion with a loud moan. He tries it again, this time harder, and Eames grinds back, ripping a low sound of pleasure from Arthur’s throat. They seek each other’s lips, kissing hungrily as they rock against each other, and Arthur decides that this isn’t enough. His hands fumble with their flies and he lets out an appreciative murmur when his fingers wrap around Eames’ erection, hot and already leaking.

“Arthur, please,” Eames gasps, and Arthur is beginning to truly appreciate the way his name sounds when Eames says it. Clearly, Eames shows no indication of stopping, and Arthur listens as the murmurs of his name become steadily breathless as he strokes.

“Up,” Arthur tugs at Eames’ pants, trying to get them off. “Get up. Come on.”

They both stand, trying to kiss and get their pants down at the same time, and Eames trips over as he kicks his feet free, bringing Arthur down with him.

“Alright, love?” Eames inquires, and Arthur responds by straddling him once again and wrapping his hand around both their erections, jerking them off. With a breathless chuckle, Eames moves his hand down to help. “I’m—taking that as a yes.”

“Yes,” Arthur whispers against Eames’ lips, and it turns into a quiet chant of, “yes, yes, yes, _yes_ ,” as their strokes become more frantic, hips jerking against each other. They come, moaning into each other’s mouths, panting as they pull apart.

“Oh, Arthur,” Eames says, letting his head fall back against the carpeted floor. “I sincerely hope it doesn’t take another set of poachers dragging you away from me to have more of this in our lives.”

Arthur chuckles, grabbing a handful of tissues from the table and wiping them both clean. Lying on his side, he shuts his eyes and savours the warmth, the smell, the feel of the man beside him, and murmurs, “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.”

*

“You’re sure about this, Arthur?”

Arthur nods wordlessly and Cobb frowns as he considers this. He’s the ranger in charge of this particular forest, and an old friend of Arthur’s. Over the years, he’s received countless tip-offs about poachers, and he knows better than to ask Arthur how he knows. Eames leans against the wall of the small office, arms folded across his chest as he watches Arthur, sitting still and straight-backed as Cobb paces back and forth.

“You realise that Mr. Cobol is a particularly powerful man. If you can’t prove it’s him and his men setting the traps—”

“We can give you the precise locations,” Eames says, speaking up for the first time since entering the office. He stands straight and slides his hands into his pockets. “Granted, Cobol’s an idiot for setting traps when most of the animals here are cosy and asleep, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s trying.”

Cobb’s eyes narrow in thought, and he slowly nods. “Can you mark out the locations, then? We’ll patrol there, so we can catch him in the act.”

“Provided he doesn’t realise that you’re there,” Arthur says.

“Trust me, Arthur, I’ve been doing my job for years. I know how to go unnoticed.”

 _I can always hear him a mile off_ , Arthur confides to Eames later, when they’re walking through the snow, shifted back into their animal forms.

 _Darling, that’s because you’re special_. Eames tucks Arthur under his massive head and lifts a paw, pulling him into a hug. _And possibly paranoid_.

“It’s not paranoia if it keeps us alive,” Arthur says, later still, when they’re curled up together in front of the fireplace.

“Of course not,” Eames gives him an indulgent smile. “You’re my Arthur: shape shifter and poacher-hunter extraordinaire. Saviour of animals everywhere.”

Arthur snorts softly, linking their fingers together. “And you’re the one who drags me out of trouble.”

Kissing Arthur’s forehead, Eames smiles brightly. “Your great big polar bear sidekick. And occasionally leopard. And eagle. And echidna—”

“And always a headache,” Arthur rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling when he leans in for another kiss.

x


End file.
